


Non-Hero

by tal_5



Series: Circus AU [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Circus, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Injuries, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tal_5/pseuds/tal_5
Summary: The tent is silent, only the sounds of birds and the distant hum of cars reaching their ears. Along with that damn buzzing again. Remy still can’t tell if it’s real or not.“You... You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”“Yeah. These things happen sometimes.”Thomas nods, scanning the tent for a moment before turning back to his friend. “You still feel a little guilty though.”A huff of laughter. “Wouldn’t you?”There’s no reply, and Remy knows he’s right.





	1. Not a Hero...

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is a pun you'll get once you read!  
> Also, this is going to have two chapters since it got longer than I expected it to. Thank you for the support on this series so far, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Pairing(s): Platonic Remy/Thomas, platonic Remy/Virgil, brief platonic Remy/Roman, and briefly mentioned (implied) Prinxiety
> 
> Warnings: Strong language, mention of injuries, mention of family issues, brief mention (of implied) abuse, very brief suicidal metaphor, and arguing (?)

What causes the feeling of one’s heart dropping into their stomach?

Remy was never good at science as a kid; constantly botching even the most simplest of experiments, completely giving up on tests half-way through, and unintentionally giving his teacher a hard time. He found it interesting to an extent, but his three minute attention span made it rather difficult for him to concentrate on retaining the information he needed for exams.

Surprisingly, he didn’t fail the class. Most of the exams, yes. But for the final exams, he used one method to focus fully on the questions in front of him. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could create mini stories and personalities for the words cresting the questions.

For example, the word ‘Volume’ was a stubborn moron, usually taking control of a situation and manipulating others into following their ideas. However, these traits made them an amazing leader. This was the exact opposite of ‘Water’; a shy personality, capable of adapting to all conditions and environments, but also allowed others such as ‘Volume’ to walk all over them.

Remy doesn’t tell people this. It’s weird, he knows that. But in the end, it got him to the start of college. Not that he stayed for very long.

There was one question’s story that, for a reason Remy could never quite figure out, had stuck in his head since high school. This question was nothing special, and still isn’t, but its story was. Maybe.

‘ _Which of the following is a non metal that remains liquid at room temperature?_ ’

For rather obvious reasons, ‘Which’ was a terrible villain terrorising ‘Of’, ‘The’, ‘Is’, ‘That’, and ‘At’. But, as always, a hero was created to save the day, ‘Non’ and their best friend ‘Following’. However, the thing that made this hero different was that they didn’t _want_ to be a hero. They didn’t _want_ to get involved with the villains evil plot, but they were dragged into it by, not only ‘Following’, but ‘Metal’ too.

‘Metal’ wasn’t a _bad_ personality, they were just very... convincing and subconsciously manipulative of weaker people. They convinced ‘Non’ and ‘Following’ to defeat the villain with them.

Remy can remember snickering a little to himself as he thought of how ‘Remains’ and ‘Temperature’ would make it extremely difficult for ‘Metal’ to get another word in during conversations planning attacks and such. This is what made the two of them and ‘Non’ get along so well.

To make a startlingly long story short, ‘Liquid’, an assertive but understanding personality, helped the five of them take down ‘Which’.

At the end of their story, ‘Non’ decided that being a hero was too overwhelming and stuck to doing stupid shit with their best friend ‘Following’ and the newfound friends they had made along the way. And Remy still remembers ‘non’ being his favourite word for a while after that.

Returning to the present, Remy feels bile in the back of his throat as Virgil’s fingers slip from his grasp. Even that made up hero in his mind has frozen from where they are making daisy chains with their friends.

He throws himself up onto the platform with the momentum he’s already picked up, and when he turns to look back at what he expects to be a broken doll, he sees Roman kneeling on the ground. The poor man is shaking, though Remy can’t decide why. Out of effort? With adrenaline?

In terror? Maybe it’s a mix of all three.

As Remy climbs down to the bottom of the platform, he hurries over to where Logan is looking over Virgil’s limp form, mumbling something incoherent before ensuring that Thomas is on the phone with an operator. In the background, there’s sobbing, the nearly inaudible rushing of vehicles on the street close by, and a buzzing Remy isn’t sure is real.

Stepping out of the icy cold, Remy feels warm air counteract his freezing skin, and now he feels nothing at all. The wheels turning beneath them twists his stomach. Sirens, though a few cars ahead, are so loud. But somehow, he can still hear the constant buzzing.

White walls and heavy scents of medication, something Remy finds familiar in a way. His mind takes him back home. He smiles.

Why? He doesn’t know. There’s nothing to smile about, after all.

Once the injured trapeze artist is cleared, Remy and those who are calm enough to take care of a still-unconscious Virgil are sent home. Remy doesn’t bother to ask about his companion’s injuries, as long as he’s fit enough to be at home, he doesn’t care.

Deciding that he’s had enough drama for one day, Remy climbs his usual platform on the right side of the tent after wrapping his hands and feet, ignoring the slight aching in his legs, and takes hold of the trapeze bar with one hand. He studies the bar, just for a moment, before jumping off the platform.

He twirls and flips, feeling a rush of air against his face and sighing softly as the fingers gripping the trapeze begin to ache.

Instead of swinging himself towards the platform, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, already knowing that if he can do this, someone is controlling a pulley nearby. Someone knows he’s here.

The dirt beneath his feet is rough, lightly scratching the parts of his soles that aren’t covered. A puff of air escapes him when a disembodied voice calls to him out of nowhere, “You don’t usually practice by yourself. Everything alright?”

“ _Jesus_ , Thomas!” Remy clutches his heart, averting his eyes towards the ground as his boss chuckles sheepishly.

“Sorry, sorry.”

With a curt nod, Remy focuses on the loud drumming of his heart, listening to the beats that are gradually becoming less frequent. Eventually, he has the strength to actually look at Thomas properly, stomach shrinking back at the suspicious glint in his eyes. “Virgil’s going to be alright, you know.”

Remy shrugs, a loose movement that jostles his body so much his vision goes a little blurry for a second. “I know. Is Roman okay? His arm was _fucked_.”

Thomas snorts a little, though it doesn’t have the same warm spark as usual. “He’ll be okay. And, of course, he’s still insisting on being in the show. Apparently having a slightly broken strongman who can still lift double his own bodyweight is pretty impressive.”

“Well, he’s not _wrong_ — “

“ _Please_ don’t encourage him."

A laugh sounding much more like a long breath slips through Remy’s lips. “Let me finish,” he mutters, “I was going to say he’s not _wrong_ , just stupid.”

Rolling his eyes, Thomas hums, arms folded in a manner that almost sets off a hostile flame in Remy’s stomach. What did _he_ do? Instead of voicing these thoughts however, he decides that practicing a little more won’t hurt anyone. His hands and feet have stopped aching, so he leans forward, grabbing the trapeze bar and preparing to ask for Thomas to leave him be. But unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to do so.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?“ asks Thomas, something weighing down his words.

After forcing the noticeable tension out of his shoulders, Remy fiddles with the ropes holding up the bar and shrugs yet again. “As long as Virgil and Roman are fine, nothing.”

Thomas’ eyes soften and he frowns. “You don’t have to lie to me— “

“Lying?!” Though he’s a little mad at himself for the sudden increased volume of his voice, Remy pays it no mind and spins around to fix his hardened gaze on the startled man in front of him. “What the hell would I have to lie about? Look, I know the incident with Virgil today kind of scared everyone, but I’m really fine. They’re both going to be fine. Everything’s _fine_.”

Trembling fingers grip the bar, he rests his forehead against them, letting air completely fill his lungs before releasing his (nervous) energy with a shaky sigh. It’s just adrenaline; he doesn’t like being accused of stuff. Especially if it’s untrue. “So, just leave it alone.”

The tent is silent, only the sounds of birds and the distant hum of cars reaching their ears. Along with that damn buzzing again. Remy still can’t tell if it’s real or not.

“You... You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Yeah. These things happen sometimes.”

Thomas nods, scanning the tent for a moment before turning back to his friend. “You still feel a little guilty though.”

A huff of laughter. “Wouldn’t you?”

There’s no reply, and Remy knows he’s right.

Once again, the two are unable to find something to say, reaching into the fog and only pulling out tiny droplets of water that evaporate into nothing. The trapeze artist strongly believes that silence is the most comforting sound. Even now, with tension hanging from a rope in the middle of the room, he’d prefer for their voices to remain muffled by unease than to be asked if he’s okay again.

He can only say the same words for so long.  
“Remy, I don’t think you’re okay— “

“Oh _really?_ ”

There’s a snap and suddenly, the tension is hanging by a noose, and Remy is just so fucking ready to cut through the rope. “Is that right? You don’t think I’m okay? Well, when you watch someone you know fall fifteen feet to the ground, you do tend _not_ to be okay.”

Thomas is a patient man. He truly is. “I know, will you tell me what _specifically_ you’re upset about?”

Because there was a way to avoid it, and yet, everyone cares more about the public’s opinion than their companion’s safety. Because Virgil had no choice but to go along with it. Because he has nowhere else he can go. _Because..._ “Because there weren’t any nets.”

The corners of Thomas’ lips pull down slightly, almost too little to be noticed. “Okay...” he pauses for a couple of seconds, clearly trying to detangle whatever truths may be hidden within Remy’s words. “We’ve decided that, during practices, we’re going to use nets. Does that make you feel any better? Or is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

There are no safety nets for what position they’re all in. “It’s just not fair, that’s all.”

“What isn’t fair?”

Remy doesn’t know why he’s upset anymore. But when the image of Virgil’s blurry terror enters his mind, his chest begins to ache. What’s not fair, again? “The fact that we don’t have a _choice_. We’re not here by _choice_.”

Thomas swallows. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

Honestly, he didn’t mean for his voice to grow so harsh, but that buzzing in his mind is really beginning to piss him off. “We’re here because we’re either hated or we’re poor. Simple as that. And yet, even though we joined the circus to get ourselves out of danger, we’ve been thrown back into it again! And this time, we have an _audience_.”

Remy knows for a fact that the danger here is much tamer than what they were put through before joining the circus. But he’s never allowed himself to vent before, and he thinks that bottling everything up for so long has finally got to him. “I’m upset because I’d rather fall forty feet to the ground than go back home. A life tiptoeing around my mom was never a life I wanted. But what choice did I have? Getting a job is fucking impossible nowadays, asking for work experience is like asking a homeless man for a million dollars, and finding people who won’t screw you over is basically reaching into a storm to try and find the sun! And when you do, you find a way to _drop_ them. To lose them. There’s nothing for me out there. Nothing but this fucking circus!”

The trapeze is flung from his fingers with a force he never new he had and his feet search the floorboards for something soft. Something grounding. “ _I just wish there was. I wish I could go **find** something._”

Suddenly, he’s sitting on the floor, face tight and eyes feeling bruised by the heels of his hands. Glittering multi-coloured lights flash behind his lids and his chest is heaving, every breath is like breathing in smoke and exhaling poisonous gas. Silence has covered the tent again.

“Then, why are you still here?”

Thomas’ voice is so small, so _hurt_ , that it awakens the ‘hero’ in his mind. He’s yelling, telling Remy how badly he’s just messed up, how he could’ve talked about all of this when he felt better, less vulnerable. Remy already knows that Thomas would have been willing to talk about it a little later if he’d just _asked_. But no. No.

Neither of them say another word to each other as the ringleader storms out of the tent.

Remy could go after him. He’s much faster than the average male. But he doesn’t.

He’s never wanted to be a hero.


	2. ... But Still a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite enjoying the quiet of the trailer, Remy will admit that he’s worried about his spectacled friend. “Were you scared?”
> 
> There’s a pause as Logan searches for an answer. “More concerned. Or nervous, perhaps.”
> 
> A flip of a page. “Why? Were you?”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> Even Remy can honestly say that admitting fear isn’t easy. It leaves a person vulnerable, and that is the last thing he ever wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing(s): Platonic Remy/Thomas, platonic Remy/Virgil, platonic Remy/Logan, and briefly mentioned (implied) Prinxiety
> 
> Warnings: Strong language, mention of injuries, mention of family issues, brief mention (of implied) abuse, very brief reference at suicidal metaphor, and arguing (?)

“How’s he doing? Woken up yet?”

Logan, keeping his gaze trained on his book, nods curtly, explaining his interaction with the now sleeping Virgil. Not really too bothered about the specifics, Remy finds himself tuning the tightrope-walker out and sparing the sleeping man a glance. His three minute attention span is at it again. At some point, Remy figures that Logan has caught onto the fact that he’s not listening, so he leans back against the wall of their trailer. Virgil’s bed is actually more comfortable than he thought.

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the room, warming up the ice crystallising in Remy’s chest, possibly in the hole where his heart used to be. After all, once it fell, he didn’t feel it crawl back up again. Wait. “Hey, Logan?”

“Hm?”

“What’s the feeling of our heart ‘dropping’ caused by?”

This question seems to surprise his friend for a moment; he lifts his hand to fiddle with his glasses before allowing his mind to actually come up with an answer. “I believe that sensation occurs when the atria quivers irregularly. However,” he turns the page in his book and Remy’s eyebrows shoot upwards, unaware that the man was still reading, “for your description of a heart _dropping_ , it may actually be unknown. Since the two sensations, though they may feel rather similar, are different.”

Remy hums quietly. “Alright.”

Neither of them say much for a little while, leaving the pair victims to their thoughts. Of course Remy feels guilty for just watching as Virgil fell, but at the same time, he knows it wasn’t his fault. He’s not the type of person to blame himself for everything that goes wrong around him. There’s literally nothing he could have done. His lips twitch upwards as a reference pops into his mind. “Ah, gravity. Thou art a heartless bitch.”

There’s a quiet snort from beside Virgil’s bed, but nothing more.

Silence truly is bliss. And although many would disagree with him on the account of their thoughts being scarier than any sound, Remy can fight off the darkness in his head, but he’s never been too successful in fighting off the darkness around him. Thoughts are just words spoken by a disembodied voice that may not even be real. People are much more dangerous. Whether they say something to fill the silence, or do something.

Despite enjoying the quiet of the trailer, Remy will admit that he’s worried about his spectacled friend. “Were you scared?”

There’s a pause as Logan searches for an answer. “More concerned. Or nervous, perhaps.”

A flip of a page. “Why? Were you?”

“Yeah.”

Even Remy can honestly say that admitting fear isn’t easy. It leaves a person vulnerable, and that is the last thing he ever wants to be. “But they’re both fine, aren’t they? A little broken, but still alive.”

Logan huffs, amusement lacing his tone. “Precisely. Though, I wouldn’t expect Virgil to perform again for a little while.” He flips another page of his book. “Roman may have caught him, but the impact the two of them made on each other was not pretty. Bruises and bumps, but Virgil should recover from them soon enough.”

Remy nods. “That’s fair.”

It’s quiet again, but there’s a ghost of tension hanging in the air that wasn’t there before. But before he can question Logan on it, the tightrope walker speaks. “You don’t seem okay.”

Is he that fucking transparent?

A heavy sigh deflates his body and he closes his eyes, tipping his head back to face the ceiling. “Why is that such a surprise to people? My friend just fell fifteen feet to the ground, slamming into another friend as a result. How can people expect me to be okay?”

“Because you aren’t fazed easily.” Logan mutters, staring intently at the words in his book. “We’ve had plenty of accidents similar to this in the past, though, in your defence, this _was_ one of the worse ones, and you’ve barely batted an eye. And as much as you’d hate to admit it, we know you better than you think; you know this isn’t your fault, yet you’re in a seemingly perpetual state of despair. Why is that?”

Logan won’t judge. He never has. What reason does he have to?

But if he does, Remy doesn’t know how he’ll play it off.

Swallowing, Remy’s throat tightens and he slumps lower on the end of Virgil’s bed. “Seeing him fall... It kind of reminded me that he has no other choice but to stay here, and then that reminded me that I’m in exactly the same boat. I’m stuck here.”

Another page flipped. “And is that a bad thing?”

“Yes and no,” mumbles Remy. “I just wish that, sometimes, I could just... do my own thing, y’know? Go off and be someone on my own. But I’m... There’s just the circus. Nothing else. If there’s no audience, then... who cares, right?”

Logan is silent for a few more seconds than Remy deems necessary, and for once, he wishes that he had something to fill the silence. Eventually, the tightrope-walker closes his book with a light ‘thump’ and places it carefully down on the nightstand. “You _are_ your own person, Remy. The circus isn’t all you are.”

Remy doesn’t reply.

Turning in his seat, Logan attempts to meet his companion’s gaze, his own expression softening slightly. He chews his lip, deep in thought, honey eyes flickering to the floor before landing back on his friend. “Would you like to know what my first impression of you was when you first arrived here?”

Without waiting for a nod, Logan continues. “’ _Does this man ever shut up?_ ’”

Remy’s eyes narrow, but he snorts, finding it easy to believe; he may enjoy silence now, but on his first day, he was more nervous than he’d ever been. The circus had been his only chance to escape. Logan offers him a barely-there smile. “You weren’t just a trapeze artist to me, you were talkative. And you were loud, whether you meant to be or not. The curiosity of what had brought you to the circus didn’t hit me until we were on speaking terms. I didn’t _care_.”

_Oh_.

There’s a split second where their eyes meet, and the golden sincerity Remy is suddenly hit with forms a lump in his throat. “I bet you like me a little more now, huh.”

Logan smirks, but there’s a gentleness to it. “You talk more than you think, Remy.”

If the tightrope-walker sees the wateriness of Remy’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything and simply turns back to check on Virgil. “And you imply that having an audience is bad, but if Virgil had been alone today, do you really think he’d be any less broken than he is right now?”

Remy says nothing. Only pushing himself up on his feet and brushing his fringe back. He smiles over at Logan and gestures to his book on the nightstand. “Enjoy your book, Logan.”

“I will.”

* * *

When he finds Thomas, the ringleader is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the ring, picking at specks of dirt on the floor. It’s difficult to read his expression at first. Yes, he obviously looks forlorn and maybe a little pissed off, but there’s something else scrunching up his nose and biting at his lips. Without saying a word, Remy sits beside him, close enough for their knees to knock together as he does so. They both cherish the silence between them for a while.

But Remy knows that, this time, more than silence is needed. “According to Logan, I talk a lot. Do _you_ think so?”

Thomas shrugs, flicking a larger piece of dirt away from his shoe. Instead of being disheartened by the lack of response, the trapeze artist decides to take advantage of it. “Wow, you do, don’t you? Rude. I don’t think I talk _that_ much, I mean— “

“You never answered my question.”

There’s confusion for a second before his brain rewinds today’s events, screaming something awful into his chest in response to the question reverberating in his mind. ‘ _Then, why are you still here?_ ’

An uncomfortable silence follows, dragging on until Remy fills it. “If Virgil had been alone today,” he echoes, “he’d have been way worse off than he is now.”

For the first time during this conversation, Thomas actually looks at him, eyes searching him for the body language he wants. He wants to know that Remy feels guilty. He wants Remy to feel guilty. And he does. But he’s too proud to show it, merely smirking back at his employer and shrugging. “He isn’t very talkative either. Don’t think he even made a sound when he fell. Or... Or it wasn’t very loud, anyway. So, we wouldn’t have heard him. I think that’s why we make such a good duo; I talk a little more than him, he allows there to be silence when it’s needed, and we both value quiet.”

_I need him_. “The circus wouldn’t be the same without him. He’s a snarky, quiet, observer with a secret heart of gold. Don’t you think the circus would be boring without his personality there to mingle with the others? I mean, it both clashes _and_ pairs well with Roman’s, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Thomas smiles weakly.

Remy sighs. He needs to give a direct apology eventually. “I’m sorry. I kind of... freaked out. Virgil falling reminded me that the circus is most of who I am.”

Just as Thomas opens his mouth to protest his statement, Remy grins. “But I’m talkative, I like Starbucks too much, and... and a certain emo dork means a little bit more to me than I’ll admit. I’m not _just_ a performer. I’m a person too. And besides, y’all need me to fill those awkward silences, no matter how much I like them.”

“Damn right, we do.”

The two share a grin and move to lay back on the ground, gazing up at the colours on the roof of the circus tent. _Red_. _White_. _Red_. _White_ —

“If it helps,” Thomas suddenly interrupts the colours, “I didn’t hire you because you had nowhere else to go. I hired you because you’re _talented_. And because you gave us a fire that we’d kind of lost. Besides, Virgil was starting to get a little lonely, and he liked you. ‘Said you were quiet.”

And for the first time that day, Remy feels his body come alive with a burst of laughter.

* * *

Remy had never been good at science as a kid. 

So, he made up stories with the words of his exam questions as a way of focusing solely on them. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

His favourite story was about a word forced to be something they didn’t want to be, but ended up saving the day anyway. And right at the end of it all, they decided to be whoever they wanted. Just a regular word that does stupid shit with their stupid friends. ‘Non’ had been his favourite word for a while afterwards. 

Maybe now he knows why.

And maybe he finally understands why he and Virgil make such a good duo.


End file.
